


Bleak December

by Faervel



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:28:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1713956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faervel/pseuds/Faervel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock receives an unexpected visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleak December

It was a lazy evening in London, the rain was pouring outside and Sherlock was sitting in his chair, smoking the last cigarette of the pack. Mrs Hudson was out of town and of course Watson was nowhere to be seen. Probably he was enjoying some nice warm meal in his house with Mary. Domestic bliss, as Mycroft said. His brother tried to call him several times but he didn’t care to answer the phone. He heard the door downstairs opening. Obviously it was Mycroft. He put out his cigarette and kicked the ashtray under the armchair. No, the steps on the stairs were different. It was someone else. 

The door opened. 

In the frame appeared James Moriarty. 

Sherlock was astonished at the figure, pale as a ghost, drenched head to toe. Well, he was surprised and also slightly startled at the arrival of his enemy. However, he remained perfectly calm and motionless, as it was some casual acquaintance visiting.

-You’re soaked.

-You’re indeed very observant. May I come in?

-Please.

-You were dead, I saw your brains bleeding out.-He said nonchalantly.

-In fact I was. You said you were ready to shake hands with me in hell, but it seems you didn’t make it to the appointment.

Jim started to undress slowly, remaining in his underwear.

-Don’t want to make your floor too wet. Does this bother you?

-Of course not.

-Yes, of course. Now you’re a grown man, aren’t you? Your dear brother told me everything about you, now it’s like you’re my old, old friend.

-I know nothing about you.

-Well, then just read it. Come on.-He insinuated, stretching out his arms.

Sherlock had just started to inspect his bare form when Jim suddenly began to cough harshly, his hands covering his mouth. Sherlock just watched his body twitch with pain and when he finished coughing he let out a sigh so hard that it shook his thin frame. He removed his hands slowly, they were bloody.

-You’re James Moriarty, consulting criminal. Killed your first victim, Carl Powers when you were 13, had a successful career, bored for most of your life until you found me. You’ve been in a hospital recently and now that you’re dying you came here to burn me before you do. You cannot cope with and unfinished melody.

-Wrong.

-How am I wrong?

-I… I…

Jim had another fit, this time worse than the previous. Some little droplets of blood fell onto the floor.

-I… just came here to say… goodbye, my dear. Daddy is a little… sick and not fit to play with you…Sherlock.

Sherlock looked him in the eye. He was still a madman with his evil smirk, but the look in his eyes was distant, lightless. He reminded him of his dog, Redbeard, in the days before his departure. This started some kind of old mechanism inside him, like a dusty clockwork that hasn’t worked for centuries. He knew he couldn’t save him, but still.

-Come wash your hands. He said as he took Jim to the bathroom. Sherlock obviously wasn’t used to take care of others, he could barely suffice for himself. Nevertheless he helped him washing up, wrapped him in a large towel and sat him on the edge of the bathtub. During the whole procedure he was a bit shaky, but Jim didn’t seem to mind. He took out the blow-dryer from the cabinet and started drying Jim’s hair. Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair and he relaxed under his touch.

-Thanks. Jim said softly.

-Well, your clothes are wet so… wait a minute.

Sherlock emerged from the bedroom with a dark blue dressing gown.

-Here.

If laughing hadn’t caused Jim to cough up both his lungs he probably would have right now. Not in a taunting way, just a genuine carefree laugh for the sake of the absurdity of the situation. Anyway he liked it. His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by another bleak fit, this time the blood stained the towel he was covering with.

-Sorry.

Sherlock looked at him inquisitively.

-You should lie down, while your clothes dry.

Jim expected Sherlock to gesture him towards the sofa, but instead he indicated the bedroom.

-You flatter me, Sherlock.-He joked.

The other didn’t detect it as a joke and stiffened a bit.

-I just thought you would be more comfortable.

-I didn’t mean it.

Sherlock nodded lightly and helped him to the bed, and then he put a couple of extra pillows under Jim’s head to ease his breathing.

-Now I’ve got some work to do, I’ll be in the kitchen if you, well…

-Thanks.

Jim was alone now, but sure he felt comfortable. He looked around: some books sprawled across the room, a photo of Sherlock and his brother half hidden by a box, some paper and clothes piled up in a corner. There were a couple of empty cigarette packs on the nightstand and a box of tissues. All the furniture and the books had a consistent amount of dust over them suggesting he hadn’t been tidying up for quite some time. He started drifting to sleep. All the thoughts, as usual, came to him. What in the world was he thinking when he showed up to his door? Why did he help him? Sherlock could have killed him very easily. Why didn’t he? He should have. Jim was suffering terribly. He hoped Sherlock had the guts to kill him. Nobody had. He had some help at home, but no one was ever kind to him. They were all scared. Wonder why? He laughed softly in his mind and then the sleep caught him.

In the kitchen Sherlock was pretending to work on some experiments. He could hear no sound coming from the bedroom, probably Jim was asleep. He retrieved the ashtray from under the chair and lit the half smoked cigarette from before. It tasted horribly. He tried to sleep on the couch, then on the chair and on the couch again but for God’s sake he wasn’t comfortable. “Well then” he thought “I’m sleeping in my bed”. Without turning the lights on or making the slightest sound he crept under the sheets in the farthest spot from Jim. His guest developed a light fever that made the bed even more comfortable. In minutes he was sound asleep too.

“ _And now at the dead hour of the night…dreadful silence of that old house, so strange … this excited me to uncontrollable terror… I refrained… still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst…”_ Sherlock woke up suddenly, pulling away all the sheets from Jim. Mycroft read him that tale when they were children and even now, after all the years and the horror he had seen, it still shook him to the core.

-What are you doing?-Asked Jim not even realizing what had happened. In the faint light of the moon he could see nobody standing around the bed, so he turned around and saw Sherlock grasping at the sheets.

-Nothing.- He replied quickly, before throwing back the blankets to him.

From under the covers Jim reached out and touched Sherlock’s chest. He didn’t move.

-Don’t be scared. He said quietly.

-I’m not.

-Then why are you shaking?

-Cold.

-And why is your heart beating so fast?

Sherlock didn’t reply.

Jim moved forward to him putting his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, of course he knew about his nightmares, Mycroft had told him that he would wake up in the middle of the night to never fall asleep again. Jim started moving his hand gradually, running across his arm and his back. Sherlock was still shaking even if he didn’t intend to move a muscle. After a few minutes he turned suddenly to the other side. Jim, however, didn’t stop caressing him, running his fingers into his hair and his back. Eventually Sherlock snuggled close to him and stopped shaking.

-What are we doing? Asked Sherlock.

-I am a dying man, my dear. It doesn’t really matter.

Jim started rubbing Sherlock’s stomach in a circular motion.

-Feeling better?

-Mmh… mmh…

He leaned forward and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. Sherlock blushed heavily but fortunately the darkness hid him.

-Let’s have some sleep, ok?

Despite the awkwardness of the situation and the awful effect that the presence of other human beings had on Sherlock, he felt so calm and relaxed that after a few minutes he slipped in a deep and peaceful sleep like he hadn’t in years.

When he awoke it was late in the morning and the bed was empty.

He found his dressing gown folded on a chair, Jim was nowhere to be seen.

There was no rain that day, just grey clouds and the cold wind of December.

He remembered the kiss, it was still burning on his cheek.

_I will burn you. I will burn the heart out of you._


End file.
